Out of the Vault- The Rampaging Hulk

So Internet access is restored and to celebrate, we've got a flood of stuff on its way. First up, a new Vault, and on Monday, look for a BIG surprise.

If you've been reading comics for any length of time at all, then you know about the Comics Code Authority, the self-censoring body that was set up by the major comics publishers in the wake of Congressional hearings on sex and violence in comics. You may also know how William Gaines shut down Mad as a comic book and began publishing it as a black-and-white magazine as a way of avoiding CCA censorship, a tactic that was soon imitated by other publishers, especially horror publishers like Warren, which produced Creepy, Eerie, and Vampirella.

In the 70's, Marvel joined the black-and-white, non-CCA world starting with Savage Tales. For the most part, the mid-70's magazine characters were either characters outside the main Marvel continuity, like Conan and Kull, or else they were minor Marvel Universe characters like Dracula, Shang-Chi and Iron Fist (not that Dracula is a minor character, but that he existed mainly on the fringes of the Marvel Universe) from genres that appealed to older audiences and could presumably benefit from more mature treatment, like horror and kung-fu.

But in late 1977, Marvel decided to toss one of their major superheroes into the magazine mix with The Rampaging Hulk. The storyline was unrelated to the continuity of the Hulk's monthly color comic, but was a throwback storyline that ostensibly fit in a gap between the end of the Hulk's original comic series (which was canceled after six issues) and his appearance in the first issue of The Avengers. Bruce Banner, along with teen sidekick Rick Jones, traveled with an alien techno-artist named Bereet who was being pursued by her fellow aliens intent on invading Earth.

The Rampaging Hulk never really caught on. Unlike some of the other magazines that capitalized on the lack of Code enforcement to take a racier approach to their material, Rampaging was pretty much indistinguishable from its color counterpart from a storytelling standpoint.

The big difference was in the art. There was no regular art team on the magazine. Pencils were provided by a rotating squad of American Marvel talents like Jim Starlin, Walt Simonson, and Hulk regulars Herb Trimpe and Sal Buscema. But because these were black-and-white magazines, they usually received florid inks from a stable of mostly Filipino artists like Alex Nino, Alfredo Alcala and Rudy Nebres.

One advantage of the format was that the artists had more page room to work with, and the lack of color printing made details sharper, resulting in impressive splash pages like this shot of Hulk destroying a colossus in issue 7, art by Keith Pollard and Jim Mooney (one of the few Americans to ink a story in the series).


On the other hand, this set of panels from issue 8 by Herb Trimpe and Alfredo Alcala show a clumsy disconnect between the pencils and the inks. To be fair, Trimpe was always an idiosyncratic penciller, with a dynamic approach to layout and storytelling but often clumsy draftsmanship. On his own, Alcala produced lovely wash work, but he and Trimpe just couldn't sync. One thing that jumps out at you here: Trimpe sure did love him some splayed hands reaching toward the viewer. The other thing that jumps out at you: the overblown dialogue doesn't play any better in B&W.


The alien invasion storyline ended abruptly in issue 9, and with issue 10, the magazine retooled completely. The title was changed from The Rampaging Hulk to simply, The Hulk. The magazine was now being printed in full-color on white, high-quality paper as opposed to the cheaper pulp used in the earlier issues (I usually color-correct old black-and-whites to remove the yellowing when I scan pictures in for the Vault, but in the panels above, I let the yellowing remain, so that you can contrast with the whiteness of the paper in the panel below).


The other big change was in editorial direction. You see, between the time that The Rampaging Hulk started in 1977 and the time it retooled with issue 10, the Incredible Hulk TV series starring Bill Bixby had become a surprise hit.

Therefore, the stories in the new issues of the magazine were written to appeal to viewers of the series who might not read other superhero comics. Which is not to say that The Hulk was a comic adaptation of the TV series. Main character Banner was still Bruce and not David, and the Hulk looked nothing like Lou Ferrigno, nor was he limited by a TV budget to a few simple super-strength gags like lifting a car or busting through a wall.

But each issue had a self-contained story with Bruce as a drifter helping out people in need, rather than the soap-opera-style continuity of the color comics. In addition, instead of aliens and supervillains, the Hulk battled enemies like greedy mine owners and abusive fathers.

I kind of liked The Rampaging Hulk as a teen, but after the magazine changed direction, I abandoned it after two issues. It wasn't so much that I couldn't stand reading a story without a supervillain. But Doug Moench, the main writer on the magazine, couldn't really adapt to a more naturalistic style, and his plots couldn't evoke the kind of emotional responses that he clearly hoped they would. Plus Ron Wilson's art abandoned basic solid drawing for a superabundance of ticky-tacky detail (see above) and the too-bright colors didn't help (also see above). The entire enterprise was the definition of "trying too hard." It was embarrassing.

On the other hand, The Hulk did prove to be the precursor to better things to come. The comics industry as a whole began to adopt better printing methods and better paper, and occasionally, the writing and art were even good enough to justify them. So The Hulk was a pioneer, a bad magazine that pointed the way for better ones.

Comics Code Oops

Told people about this last night, decided to post it today. The scan is from Overstreet's Comic Book Price Guide, No. 9, 1979. The following illustration is from an article titled, "For Those Who Know How to Look," by Carl Macek. The title is a quote from Fredric Wertham's Seduction of the Innocent, in which Wertham explained that there was sexual imagery hidden in all kinds of comics panels for kids who "knew how to look."

But with the establishment of the Comics Code Authority in 1954, mighty efforts were made to clean up comics' image, though those efforts didn't always work out as intended. For example:

Panel on left is from Harvey Comics' Teen-Age Bride #5 (published before the code), while the panel on the right is from the exact same story reprinted in Teen Bride-to-Be Romances #20 (published post-code). Is this really less dirty?

Out of the Vault- Adventures Into the Unknown #117

Since Halloween is coming up, I figured I might do some horror comics. But since, as I've said before, there was no horror in horror comics back in the Code days, I figure I'll just expand the definition to show you comics featuring ghosts and monsters in decidedly unscary contexts.

First up, Adventures Into the Unknown #117, from 1960.

When I was a young teenager, there was a big recycling dumpster near my dad's house. And very occasionally, my stepbrother and I would dive in there to see if there was anything good. I think he might have been more interested in finding porn or something, but I came late to that particular pastime. I was more interested in finding comics.

And one day, we actually hit a pretty good stash. There was a Classics Illustrated, a Fantastic Four #55 (the return of the Silver Surfer!), and this comic, Adventures Into the Unknown #117, published by American Comics Group over two years before I was born. It was not in the greatest shape, having been rescued from a dumpster; I worried while scanning the few pics you see here that the worn cover would tear apart completely.

The banner at the top reads "Gripping Tales of Suspense!" right next to a freaking HUGE Comics Code Authority seal, which should tell you all you need to know about this book. The CCA--adopted in 1954 in the wake of Wertham's Seduction of the Innocent and the subsequent Kefauver hearings (yes, there were Senate hearings on comic books back in the day)--did not allow the use of the words "horror" or "terror" in titles, nor did it allow horror content. The code relaxed a bit in the early 70's, which was why you could have books like Swamp Thing and the Marvel monster heroes (including the Son of Satan!).

But in 1960, the closest you could get was "Suspense!" (cue the Suspense theme from the 40's radio show).

Two other quick notes about the cover before we dive inside: one, the artist is Ogden Whitney, who is lampooned here for frequently drawing covers featuring giant feet. And second, right next to the word "Unknown" on the cover is a small box that says "IND." I have no idea what this means, and I don't know if I have any other comics in my collection which bear it.

So what constitutes a gripping tale of "suspense" in a 1960 Code comic? Let's have a look.

The cover story is titled "The Spencer Special," and as you can see on the cover, it appears to feature a ghost (although the word "ghost" is never mentioned, of course). Let's see.

The story, illustrated by Ogden Whitney, is about champion racer Greg Morrison, who is drawn to a cardboard standee while visiting a racing museum. It depicts a beautiful woman standing next to an antique car. The museum curator says the car is the Spencer Special, which managed to hit 204 miles per hour. Greg is skeptical, so the curator tells him the story.

Dale Spencer, daughter of the car's builder, took the car out on country back roads to see just fast it would go. And so...



You get that? The curator had said the car "was clocked at 204 miles per hour," but now we see that Dale was alone in the car when it hit that speed, then immediately crashed and was "killed instantly." So how does anyone know how fast the car went?

Anyway, Greg is fascinated by the story and wants to see the original car. The curator then mentions that by incredible coincidence, the last member of the Spencer family has just died and they are auctioning off the estate that very day! What are the odds?

Morrison heads to the estate, thinking to buy the remains of the Special, but changes his mind when he learns that the estate is being sold in one big lot. He starts to leave but is lured back by a beautiful voice and the scent of patchouli (Miss Dale's favorite perfume).

So he buys the estate and wakes up one morning to find the plans detailing the construction of the Special on the floor. He rebuilds the car and takes it out to see what it can do, ignoring the butler's ominous warnings, and...



(you'll notice how these panels echo the ones above--not only that, but they even appear on the same parts of the page--nice structural touch that unfortunately required a bit of story padding to work). He crashes into the supermarket built on the site of the general store where the first Special crashed and awakes in 1902, where Dale has just had her own crash. Miraculously, she has survived, and they share a passionate kiss...

As they're zipping Greg into a body bag back in the real world (okay, they didn't use body bags then, apparently, but that's the way the scene would play today, like this--skip to the very end if you don't want to watch a 10 minute musical number). A heartwarming example of the "Death is actually a happy ending" genre of supernatural stories.

The second story is more typical of Code-era "horror" stories. The story is about a con man named Archer Prott, who seduces rich old ladies and swindles them out of their money, then leaves them cold. Archer contacts a woman named Ferenda through a lonely hearts ad, and soon begins receiving gifts from her in the mail (mail with stamps that glow mysteriously). He receives a ring that, once donned, won't come off. When he mentions he needs money to pay off some debts, he learns she has a big chest.


Yeah, that's right, uranium coins. Nothing strange about that. With the money in hand, Archer decides to give Ferenda the heave-ho, but then she shows up at his door. And wouldn't you know it? She's a green-skinned alien with Medusa hair who takes Archer back to her planet. What good is the money now, huh? Irony!

The only really interesting thing about this story is that it was illustrated by C.C. Beck and Pete Costanza, who had previously worked together on the Golden Age Captain Marvel.

The third story in the issue is another tale of ironic love, in which a boy named Bobby Foster was born under a bad star--actually a wandering star named Vera, which first appeared on the night he was born. Vera passes close to the Earth every year on Bobby's birthday, and every birthday, he has bad luck. Bobby consults an astrologer, who tells him that his astrological charts say Vera will continue to influence his life even after its destruction.

Next birthday, Vera is struck by a huge meteor and blown to pieces. Bobby rejoices, thinking his curse is over. He throws a party to celebrate on his next birthday, one year later, and as the guests are singing "For he's a jolly good fellow," a small chunk of rock crashes through the window and hits him in the head. The astrologer has the rock analyzed, and sure enough, it's a chunk of Vera. He visits Bobby in the hospital, to tell him how this vindicated his prediction, and Bobby introduces him to his fiancee, a nurse he met in the hospital--a nurse named Vera! GULP!

The final story is a throwaway about your typical rich old miser, bitter and mean to everyone, who decides to find the fountain of youth so he can be young and strong and enjoy his riches. Tired and thirsty after hours of trekking through a swamp, he finds a pool of water. A deer drinking from the pool turns young before his eyes, and when his cane gets wet, it sprouts leaves like a sapling. Triumphant, the old man drinks greedily, but overshoots his mark. He regresses back to infancy. This being a 1960's Code comic, he doesn't starve to death or get eaten by wolves; he is simply adopted by a passing farmer and spends his youth toiling in the fields while his mansion sits empty and forgotten. Irony again!

The comic isn't horrible, especially given what other publishers were putting out at the same time. After all, in 1960, Batman was still a fat guy being pestered by Bat-Mite and Bat-Woman, having imaginary stories about going off to fight aliens on other worlds. The Marvel revolution which would start with Fantastic Four #1 was still a year and a half away, which meant the entire Marvel line was given over to monster books, featuring creatures like Gomdulla, the Living Pharaoh!

But strangely enough for a suspense comic, nobody has a truly bad ending. Greg dies, but "lives" happily ever after with Dale in heaven or wherever. The worst fate is that of Archer Prott, and the worst thing he goes through is getting an ugly wife. And you never know, maybe she ended up being a great cook and the bomb in bed and he learned to love her eventually. Stranger things have happened.